


The Tale of the Champion

by nlans



Series: Cecily Trevelyan [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-09
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-02-28 18:03:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2741936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nlans/pseuds/nlans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecily Trevelyan was delighted to meet her favorite author. But these weren't quite the circumstances she'd imagined.</p>
<p>DA:I scenes, with epigraphs from an imagined version of <i>The Tale of the Champion</i>. Major spoilers for Inquisition -- so skip this one if you haven't finished the game! First attempt at posting fanfic; comments and suggestions very welcome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Preface

*******************************************

_This is the story of Juliet Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall._

_It is also the story of the men and women who stood at the Champion’s side as she became a legend. Her brother Carver, who fought to find his own path. Aveline Vallen, a warrior and protector without equal. Isabela, a charismatic pirate trapped in Kirkwall by a shipwreck—among other things. Merrill, a Dalish elf whose kind heart carried a dangerous obsession. Fenris, a former slave whose desire to escape his past was matched only by his hatred of magic. Plus a charming dwarf with a deadly crossbow and a heart of gold—that would be me._

_And, of course, Anders._

_I’ll have more to say about Anders._

_Almost everyone in Thedas has an opinion about the Champion. I have heard her called a hero and a traitor, a savoir and a coward, a rebel and a pawn._

_My name is Varric Tethras, and I am honored to call her my friend._

*******************************************

“What’re you reading?”

Cecily looked up, startled, and grabbed for the pommel of her saddle. Reading and horseback riding weren’t necessarily the best combination, but she had to do something to keep her mind off their destination.

Kallian had steered her horse up next to Cecily’s and was looking quizzically over her shoulder. “ _The Tale of the Champion_? Again? Which part?”

“The Kirkwall rebellion,” Cecily admitted. “I’m at the part where the Templar officer breaks ranks and defends the Champion. Do you think that really happened?”

“Sure, Cecy. A Templar officer stepped in to defend an apostate during a mage rebellion. And nugs can fly, and Lake Calenhad is filled with chocolate,” Kallian said, rolling her eyes. “The author just made that up so the Chantry wouldn’t accuse him of being anti-Templar. If there were Templars like that we wouldn’t need this bloody Conclave.”

Cecily sighed and slipped the book back into her saddlebag. “You never were one for comforting illusions, Kalli. I suppose if he were real, Varric Tethras would have included his name.”

“Oh, don’t look like I’ve told you Winterfair is cancelled. If you need a distraction, why not flirt with some of the mercenaries? They’re a good-looking bunch, as sellswords go.” Kallian’s eyes crinkled merrily.

Cecily laughed. “As if I could draw their attention when you’re around," she teased. Kallian had been her first friend in the Circle—the clever elf had been the only one willing to reach out to the haughty newcomer with the famous last name. That was Kalli all over, charming and at ease with anyone. 

Kallian shrugged playfully. "I can't help being irresistible, you know that." But then her smile shifted into a more serious expression. “Cecy ... what do you think will happen at the Conclave?”

Cecily pulled her coat closer and let out her breath; the puff of air coiled through the winter cold. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “We must do all we can to help Divine Justinia see our side. We’re told she’s sympathetic to the complaints that led to the rebellion, and surely she will agree that invoking the Rite at a Circle like ours went too far.”

She had tried to start with her hopeful thoughts, but her optimism sounded false, even to her. She slumped a bit in her saddle. “Truthfully, though? Things may be too far gone for reconciliation. We have to try. But not even the Divine may be enough to end this war.”

Kalli sighed. “That’s what I think too,” she said, resignation clear on her face. “Shit. You’re better than I am at politics. I was hoping I was wrong.”

“The Maker can hear you swear, Kallian,” Cecily said primly. It had been one of the first things Cecily had ever said to Kalli, and it was now a joke between them. 

Kallian laughed dutifully, but Cecily could tell her attention was focused ahead of them, on the Temple of Sacred Ashes, now just a few short miles away.


	2. Introduction

*****************************

_When Bartrand looked at Hawke, he saw a shabby Ferelden apostate. I saw a potential business partner. Sure, she didn’t have two coppers to rub together when we met, but she was focused and determined; she could get the coin. I knew Bartrand was underestimating her._

_As it turned out, I was as well._

*****************************

Cecily rubbed her hands together, wishing she had gloves, and then scolded herself for being upset over cold fingers. She hadn’t even begun to process any of this—the mark on her hand, the tear in the sky, the monsters, or the lingering suspicion that a lot of people around her wanted her dead. 

Well, she was used to people wanting mages dead on general principle. But now they wanted _her_ dead, specifically. _That_ was new and unwelcome.

So she tried to boil her day down to its simplest form. _The rift releases demons. Demons are bad. Get to the big rift, fix the big rift, and no more demons. No demons will be good._

_Maker, please let this work._

“You all right there?” the dwarf asked.

“Oh yes. Just thinking,” Cecily said, trying to keep her voice bright. 

The dwarf—Varric—looked up at her curiously. Cecily wondered how he’d broken his nose. “So … if you don’t mind me asking, how exactly did you survive that explosion?”

“I have no idea,” Cecily sighed, feeling the ice ahead of her with one foot before trusting her weight to it. “I don’t remember. I was at the Conclave, and then the next thing I knew I was in a cell with this thing on my hand.” She flexed her left fingers. It still felt as if her palm were trying to split itself in half.

Varric shook his head. “That’s where they’ve got you. You should have just made up a story. Easier for them to understand, and less likely to result in premature execution.”

Behind them, Cassandra made a disgusted noise and started to say something, but Cecily wasn’t entirely listening. The comment about stories …

“Maker’s breath!” she gasped. “You’re _that_ Varric Tethras!”

Varric gave her a strange look. “Um. Which Varric Tethras is that?”

“ _The Tale of the Champion_! I didn’t put it together until just now, what with the demons and everything.” Cecily beamed. “I can’t believe it. I read your book—maybe dozens of times. Is that really what the Champion is like? That funny, and brave, and …”

Varric grinned, clearly enjoying her hero-worship. “Well, I did my best, and it turned out pretty well if I say so myself. Hawke’s hard to capture on paper, though. She _is_ funny, and brave, and she makes dealing with the craziest shit look almost easy. But she’s also got flaws like anyone else. For one thing, she’s terrible at Wicked Grace.”

“What about her other friends? Do you know what happened to them?” Cecily knew she sounded about fourteen, and didn’t care.

“I keep in touch. Daisy—er, Merrill is still in the Kirkwall area. She’s helping elves who were made homeless during the fighting. Aveline’s still in Kirkwall too, with her husband Donnic. I think the city would fall into the sea if she quit the Guard. Isabela went back to the Raiders and is calling herself Admiral now, but it might be that she just has a really big hat. Hawke’s brother Carver was off on Warden business in the Anderfels last I heard. And Fenris has been putting his energy into fighting the Tevinter slavers who came south to prey on Kirkwall refugees.” 

For some reason, Cassandra stiffened at the mention of the last name. “You did not mention you had been in contact with the elf. Are they still together, Fenris and the Champion?”

The dwarf side-eyed her warily. “They left Kirkwall together. But it’s hard to predict those two. Like I said, Seeker, I’m not sure where Hawke is now.”

“Would _he_ know where she is, by any chance?” the Seeker asked, her tone cold.

“He might. If you want to find him, you can probably just follow the trail of corpses.” Varric smirked a bit. “But I really don’t recommend trying to bring _him_ in for questioning. He takes being shackled badly, for some reason.”

“I thought you brought Varric in to ask him about Anders,” Cecily said, turning to Cassandra. “And to have him testify at the Conclave. You’re looking for the Champion? Why?” 

She couldn’t keep all of her outrage from her voice. It was easy to guess what the Seekers of Truth wanted from Thedas’s most famous apostate—probably to see her clapped in irons and executed for her part in the mage rebellion.

 _Or made Tranquil._ Cecily’s stomach churned.

“You admire the Champion, I take it?” Cassandra said, narrowing her eyes.

There was no point in denying it. Cecily gave a single nod. “She was an apostate in a city whose Templars have—er, had—a well-established reputation for overzealousness, even brutality. She took a tremendous personal risk when she confronted the Arishok, using her magic with all of Kirkwall’s elite watching.”

“Not to mention the part where she fought a giant Qunari warlord and won,” Varric added.

Cecily suppressed a smile; that had been her favorite part of the _Tale._ “I don’t agree with what Anders did,” she continued. “Many mages don’t. But the Knight-Commander had no justification for invoking the Rite of Annulment over the actions of a single apostate. As for Hawke, she could have fled the city, left us—left them to their fate. She stayed and fought and tried to help. So yes, I admire her.”

Cassandra tapped her fingers on her sword pommel. She seemed to be considering how to respond. Finally, she said, “I do as well.”

Cecily didn’t bother to hide her surprise. “You do? The Templars at Ostwick all insisted that Hawke was a traitor, that her goal all along was to cause the rebellion.”

Cassandra nodded. “I believed that once. But Varric convinced me that the official story is … inaccurate.”

“Well, I’m glad something came out of our little chats, Seeker,” Varric said wryly.

“Our Knight-Commander even banned your book, Varric. It was the first thing I bought after our Circle fell. Well, second, after the winter coat,” Cecily admitted. 

The memory of those days after they’d escaped the Circle quickly erased her good mood. After the declaration at Andoral’s Reach, their Knight-Commander had invoked the Rite. Cecily had known Leonard was more distrustful of mages than his predecessor, but even so, she hadn’t expected such a swift and brutal reaction. Ostwick had been a quiet Circle and most of the mages there had never even thought about using their magic as a weapon. 

And yet somehow, many of them had escaped with their lives—only to lose them at the Conclave.

_Lydia. Kalli._

She was aware that everyone else was looking at her, and she felt her cheeks flush. “I suppose I lost my copy when the rift opened,” she said quietly, swallowing hard.

Varric’s expression was sympathetic; he seemed to sense that the book wasn’t the loss on her mind. “Tell you what. If we survive the big rift I’ll get you another one. My publisher will send as many copies as I ask for.”

Cecily smiled a bit. “Thank you, Varric. I would like that.”


	3. Family

********************************

_After she worked off her debt to Meeran, Hawke’s first and most important goal in Kirkwall was getting her family out of her uncle Gamlen’s house. An understandable desire. I once spent an evening at Gamlen’s home in Lowtown and there were no fewer than five knocks at the door, all delivered by people who wanted to break Gamlen’s legs over some debt or another._

_Hawke would tell a joke at Gamlen’s expense and charm the visitors into believing her uncle was just hours away from paying them back. If that didn’t work, Carver would stand up, reach for his sword, and brag about something he’d done with the Red Iron. When the creditors left, the two of them would exchange a worried look as soon as Leandra wasn’t watching.  
_

_Moving Leandra out of Lowtown might have been the only thing the Hawke siblings agreed on. More often than not the two were squabbling. Hawke cast a long shadow and Carver was desperate to leave it, desperate to be something other than “Hawke’s brother.” Since he didn’t know how he was going to do that, Carver would pick fights with his sister just to prove that he could. For her part, Hawke had a habit of telling her younger brother what to do and when to do it; it was easy to see how that could get annoying.  
_

_But when it came right down to it either of them would have died to protect the other._

********************************

Cullen had no idea what to make of the sole survivor of the Conclave explosion.

She had introduced herself with calm formality, offering her hand to him in an almost courtly gesture. “Cecily Trevelyan, late of the Ostwick Circle. A pleasure to meet you, Commander.”

Cullen had done his best to respond appropriately, but he had little experience with highborn women—and he hadn’t needed Josephine’s memorandum on the Trevelyans of Ostwick to guess that the Herald had noble blood. Not that she was haughty, exactly. Just … formal. Reserved.

He had thought her presence at the war council an anomaly, until Cassandra brought her to the next meeting, and then to the one after that. When he asked about it, Cassandra gave him one of her heavy sighs and said, “Surely you’ve noticed that everyone in Haven is whispering about the Herald of Andraste. For better or for worse, she is now part of the Inquisition.”

 _A quiet part_ , Cullen thought, glancing over at her as Josephine and Leliana argued over the best strategy for dealing with unpleasant rumors in Val Royeaux. The Herald watched them as they debated their next steps, her face serious and attentive, but by now he knew that she would not offer an opinion unless asked. It occurred to him that perhaps she was not quite sure what her role was either.

Eventually, Josephine agreed to defer to Leliana, and the discussion turned to potential alliances in the Free Marches. Josephine turned to the Herald with a smile.

“Lady Trevelyan, I have been meaning to ask. What would you think of us making contact with your family? Might they be willing to aid the Inquisition?”

The Herald blinked. “I … I’m not sure,” she replied. The thought seemed to put her a bit off-balance.

“I suppose you have not seen them for quite some time, since you went to the Circle,” Leliana said sympathetically.

“Actually, they used to visit,” Cecily admitted.

That drew Cullen’s attention. The Order wasn’t supposed to let mages remain in much contact with their families. “Indeed?” he said, unable to help himself. “That is unusual.”

The Herald turned her head to meet his gaze. “Yes, it is,” she said, her polite mask back in place. “But my family had influence with the Ostwick Templars. The Trevelyans are generous supporters of the Ostwick Chantry, and the old Knight-Commander was a personal friend of my father’s. The visits were not frequent, but they were permitted so long as my conduct was satisfactory.”

“Ah,” was all Cullen could think to say. He could not blame the Trevelyans for wishing to see their daughter, but even now, after leaving the Order, such blatant favoritism from a Knight-Commander offended him.

“I am aware of the unfairness, Commander,” she said coolly, apparently sensing his reaction. “My best friend Kallian’s family tried to see her once and they threatened to throw her parents in a cell. I was glad to see my parents, but I do not excuse the fact that their position gave them—gave _us_ privileges denied to other families.”

“Of course not,” he said, a bit taken aback by the edge in her voice.

The Herald shifted uncomfortably, then turned her attention back to Josephine. “In any case, our family friend died a few years ago and the next Knight-Commander stopped the visits. I haven’t seen them since.”

Josephine made a sympathetic noise. “But they are religious, yes? Will the idea of their daughter being touched by Andraste please them?”

“I’m not sure how they will take the news of my involvement with the Inquisition,” the mage said, her face thoughtful. “If I were anyone else, they would probably think all of this ‘Herald of Andraste’ business was just a bunch of heretical nonsense—not to put too fine a point on it,” she added wryly. “Let me write to them. I’ve been meaning to let them know I’m all right. I’ll tell them the truth and let them draw their own conclusions about the Inquisition. They’re more likely to help if they think it’s their idea.”

“Splendid!” Josephine beamed. “Follow me. I shall furnish you with paper and ink immediately.”

********************************

Cullen and Leliana stayed in the war room for nearly two hours more, arguing over looming threats and discussing the best way to supply his soldiers. Josephine eventually rejoined them and, after just a few more arguments about the Inquisition’s priorities, the three of them agreed to break for the evening.

The sun had set and Cullen was feeling restless, so he decided to walk around Haven’s chantry, taking a moment to appreciate the quiet. As he passed the door to Josephine’s office, however, a wadded-up scrap of paper bounced across his path.

Cullen picked it up. Curiosity got the better of him. He looked through the doorway to see who had thrown it.

The Herald was sitting at Josephine’s desk, her mouth tight with frustration. She had unpinned her hair and was using her left hand to hold it back from her face; her right hand clutched a pen so tightly that her knuckles were turning white. Several more scraps of crumpled and torn paper littered the ground around her.

Cullen tried to back away quietly, but she looked up before he could make his escape. “Commander?”

Her eyes fell to the crumpled paper in his hand. She looked a bit embarrassed. “Oh. My apologies. I cannot seem to write anything satisfactory to my parents. And I promised Josephine she’d have the letter by the morning.” She sighed and flexed her hand—not the right one holding the pen, but the left one bearing the green mark.

Cullen felt a stab of sympathy. “Letters home can be surprisingly difficult to write. Can I help? I don’t know your family, but perhaps a second pair of eyes might be useful?”

She blinked. “That’s very kind of you,” she said, a bit of surprise coloring her voice. “I … actually, the paper you’re holding is the furthest I’ve gotten.”

Cullen pulled a nearby chair to the desk opposite her, sat, and smoothed the paper as best he could.

> _Dear Mother and Father,_
> 
> _I scarcely know how to start this letter. First, please know that I am ~~in good health~~ ~~alive~~ safe, and that I wish I could have written to you ~~after Ostwick’s Circle was annulled~~ ~~dissolved~~ sooner. I did not know who might want Ostwick’s mages found, and I did not want to endanger you or my siblings._
> 
> _~~I spent the next months in hiding with others who fled, until we heard Divine Justinia’s call to the Conclave. I went in the hope that a peace might be brokered~~_
> 
> _I was present at the Conclave, and by ~~some odd~~ ~~bizarre~~ ~~crazy~~ some act of luck or providence, I was the lone survivor of the explosion that destroyed the Temple of Sacred Ashes. I now bear a ~~mark~~ ~~scar~~ ~~weird glowing thing~~ mark on my hand that appears linked to the breach in the sky. ~~I do not remember how I received this~~ I do not remember the events that led to the explosion at the Conclave, or how I received this mark, but ~~I have~~ it has successfully closed small rifts in Ferelden and may be capable of sealing the largest breach as well._
> 
> _Before her death, Divine Justinia tasked her Left and Right Hands with resurrecting the Inquisition of old, with the goal of restoring order amidst the mage-Templar war. The disaster at the Conclave has given the Inquisition a new task: closing the Breach. Sister Leliana and Seeker Cassandra, both good women, ~~have asked me to join~~ have recruited me to help to close the rift._
> 
> _You may have heard that some are calling me the Herald of Andraste ~~which is absolute nonsense and I wish it would stop.~~ Please know that I do not claim such a title for myself. But it is clear that there cannot be peace so long as demons pour from the Fade into our world, and ~~I will do what I can to help~~ I believe that the Inquisition can bring an end to this crisis. I must do what I can to aid it._
> 
> _You may write to me in Haven, where the Inquisition has established its first camp. Please send whatever news you have. Was Edmund and Lyssa’s wedding everything they dreamed? What of Evie—does she apply herself to her lessons in politics and business, or does she still prefer to ride her horse at breakneck speeds down the streets of Ostwick?_
> 
> _Most of all, please let me know that you are safe._  
>  _Love, Cecy_

“Cecy?” he murmured as he finished the letter.

“My nickname. My baby sister Evelyn—Evie—couldn’t say Cecily when she was small. ‘Cecy’ stuck.” The Herald smiled fondly, then her face fell. “Maker, she’s twenty-two now. She’ll be appalled if I put in that bit about the horses and the lessons.”

“I can’t speak to that, but the rest of the letter seems good,” Cullen said. “What’s wrong with it?”

Cecily sighed and ran her hands through her hair. “Honestly? It doesn’t feel truthful. It makes this all sound _sane_ and it’s _not_.” She flexed her hand again, seemingly unconsciously. “I haven’t seen them in five years, and since then I’ve been thrown out of my home, almost been killed about forty times, _and_ gotten a bizarre magic mark on my hand _plus_ the world’s most cumbersome nickname. But I don’t want them to worry. And I know Josephine is hoping they’ll help us. We need allies.”

“Let your family know you’re safe. The rest will sort itself out.” Cullen looked at the letter again. “Is this really what you think of the Inquisition?”

Cecily peered over the desk, re-read her words, then nodded. “Why do you ask?”

“It’s _exactly_ how I feel,” Cullen said earnestly. “It’s why I joined. I’ve seen the devastation this mage-Templar war causes firsthand. When Cassandra offered me this position I left the Templars to join her cause. The Chantry lost control of both the Templars and the mages, and now they argue over a new Divine while the Breach remains. The Inquisition can act when the Chantry cannot. Our followers can be part of that. We can be part of that. There’s so much we can …”

He trailed off when he realized how much he was talking. “Forgive me. You didn’t ask for a lecture.”

She smiled. “No, but if you have one prepared I’d be willing to hear it.”

He chuckled. “You are generous.” He handed the letter back to her. “I think you should recopy this and send it.”

She took it. “Thank you, Commander. You were right—I did need outside perspective. I suppose nothing I write will quite capture what’s going on. I have new respect for Varric.”

Cullen smiled at that. He could only imagine the version of the letter Varric would write. “Good evening, Herald,” he said, standing.

“Commander? Would you call me Cecily?”

Cullen looked down at the letter, saw the crossed-out bit about wishing the Herald of Andraste talk would stop. “Of course. Cecily. If you like, you should call me Cullen. Things in Haven can seem quite formal when we all use titles.”

“They can, can’t they?” she asked, smiling a bit. “Good evening, then, Cullen.”


	4. Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cecily comes out of her shell a bit, with the aid of some alcohol.

_************************_

_“Will you come visit me? Not now, of course,” Merrill said anxiously. “But maybe later. I could use a friend.”_

_Hawke didn’t hesitate. “Of course I’ll visit.”_

  _************************_

For the first few weeks, every time Cecy spent a night at Haven she would make time to look at the blast site, to offer a few words to Lydia and Kalli and the others who had died there. Sometimes she missed them so badly she couldn’t breathe. She would have dearly loved Lydia’s advice on all of this. And Kalli would have had the entire Inquisition wrapped around her fingers in a day or less—not like Cecy, who fumbled her way through most conversations and usually survived them by retreating into the highborn manners she’d been taught as a child.

But slowly, things in Haven started to seem more familiar. Friendlier.

It started with Varric bringing her a copy of the _Tale_ —a beautiful one, elegantly bound and nothing like the cheap copy she’d lost. Vivienne had clucked her tongue in disapproval when she saw it—a Ferelden apostate was no one _she_ admired—but in her own way she was kind to Cecily, asking about her time at Ostwick and sharing her own memories of Lydia. Solas’s knowledge of the Fade fascinated Cecily, and soon their conversations ranged beyond the mark on her hand to spirits and demons and any number of topics. She also felt less useless when the war council met; her work in the Hinterlands and the Storm Coast had helped her see what the Inquisition could do, and where they might do more.

After the meetings, Cullen would ask about her family and he’d smile if she’d had a letter from them. He told her about his childhood in Honnleath, how much he’d missed his own family when he went to the Templars at thirteen. It felt a bit odd to be friends with a Templar, but Cecily felt increasingly sure that they were, indeed, friends. Cullen could be obsessive about the Inquisition, but underneath that dedication he was a genuine and kind-hearted man.

She tried very hard to ignore the other things she was noticing about him. Like the way his hands looked when he moved pieces around on the war map, or way his scar drew attention to his mouth. She tried especially hard not to imagine what those hands and mouth might be like if she kissed him. A little crush was one thing, but a full-blown infatuation would have been a disaster.

And then there was Sera and The Iron Bull.

Cecily was well aware that her family was everything Sera hated about the world. She wasn’t hostile to Cecily, though. More wary. And The Iron Bull … well, Cecily had no idea how to talk to him and she found the idea mildly terrifying. He was reporting on the Inquisition to the Ben-Hassrath, after all. Plus the whole thing where the Qun took mages and sewed their mouths shut.

Eventually the ice broke with them as well, and in a way Cecily couldn’t have predicted if she’d tried.

_************************_

She’d taken Sera on a quick trip to Redcliffe. The elf had been pestering her, demanding to see the rifts. At first Cecily thought Sera was unimpressed—she’d seen the monsters, pulled out her bow, and let loose with arrows and curse words—but afterwards, Sera hadn’t been able to stop talking about the demons. Cecily only understood about every fifth word Sera said; she did her best to keep up.

When they got back to Haven Sera had asked if she’d come for a drink. Somewhat against her better judgment, Cecily agreed. Her better judgment had been wrong. Soon she was sipping ale and laughing while Sera pantomimed their battle against the demons.

“Shit, I can’t believe that’s what you lot do every day,” the elf finished, sitting down on the bench with a thump. “You might just be worth something after all.”

“Thank you. I think,” Cecily said, pleased in spite of herself.

“Don’t let it go to your head.” Suddenly, Sera stuck her hand up and waved it in the air. “Oi! Bull!”

Cecily turned, just in time to see The Iron Bull's expression shift when he realized she was there too. She would have resented his obvious discomfort if she didn’t share it.

 _Don’t be such a coward, Trevelyan. Just have a conversation with the nice horned giant. He hasn’t tried to sew_ your _mouth shut, right?_

“Bull,” she said, giving him a nod.

“Herald,” he replied stiffly. “Didn’t think you were much for drinking.”

“Pfft,” Sera spat. “Everyone’s much for drinking after a day like today. Those demons, ya? All teeth and growling and snapping.” She clapped her jaws together in imitation of the terrors.

“I know what you mean.” Bull sat down and signaled the barkeep, who pulled out a double-sized tankard and began filling it. _Apparently he’s known in here._

Cecily desperately grappled for something to say. “Can I ask you some questions about the Qunari?” she blurted.

Bull arched his eyebrow. “Why? Are you writing a book?”

Cecily tried not to wonder if Bull meant that as an insult. “Yes. I’m writing a book about the Qunari. Andraste told me to, you see,” she said seriously.

The baffled look on Bull’s face was worth the awkward moment. Sera started laughing. “You’re takin’ a piss, right?”

Cecily held her somber expression as long as she could before her smile cracked through. “Yes, I’m teasing. There’s no book. I’m just curious. But is it rude to ask?”

Bull shifted in his seat and narrowed his eye, as if seeing her for the first time. “Nope. Ask away.”

Cecily tried to think back to what she’d read about the Qunari after the near-invasion in Kirkwall. Asking about their mages seemed too fraught, so she settled on, “I’ve heard the Qunari don’t marry. Is that accurate?”

This clearly wasn’t the question Bull had expected. He answered anyway. “Yeah, that’s true. Qunari love our friends like anyone, but we don’t have sex with them.”

Sera’s nose crinkled. “Wot? You don’t have sex?”

The Bull chuckled. “Oh, no. We _definitely_ have sex. There are Tamassrans who pop your cork whenever you need it. It’s just not a big deal like it is to you people. It’s like seeing a healer. Sometimes it takes all day, leaves you walking funny. Other times you’re in and out in five minutes.” He clicked his tongue twice. “‘Thank you, see you next week!’”

Cecily sat up straighter and blinked. Bull’s head swung toward her. “I … uh. Not to, um. Offend. My lady.”

Cecily clicked her tongue as he had—almost a question. _Click click?_ Then she burst out laughing.

“I think you broke her, ya?” Sera said, watching as Cecily gasped for breath and wiped tears from her eyes.

“I’m sorry! I’ve just never heard anyone put it quite like that.” Cecily made the clicking sound again, then succumbed to the giggles once more. “Oh dear. Sorry.” She took a breath, closed her eyes, and finally calmed down. “All right, better. And if you want to offend me you’ll have to say something _much_ worse than that.”

Bull chuckled, sounding almost approving. “I suppose if you were easily scandalized, you wouldn’t be having drinks with this one.” He jerked a thumb at Sera.

“Hey! I’m right here, you daft blighter.” Sera scowled at him.

“Ah, you know I like you, Sera. All right, my turn, Herald. How do mages in the Circle handle sex?”

A mischievous smile danced around the edges of Bull’s mouth. _This is a test,_ she realized. _He wants to see if I’m embarrassed._

Well, she was. But damned if she were going to show it.

“We go about it the same as anyone else does, I expect,” she said cheerfully. “You meet someone you like and you find someplace private. It’s just more challenging to do the second part. Especially since fraternization is forbidden, officially. The Templars can punish you for it if they catch you.”

“Did _you_ ever get caught?” Bull asked, that mischievous grin still in place.

Cecily felt her face heat a bit. “I think I'm going to keep that to myself," she said. In truth, there hadn't been much of anything to catch--but Bull and Sera didn't need to know that.

"You're cute when you blush, boss."

“Cute? Please, tell me that’s not how you’re describing me in your reports to the Ben-Hassrath,” Cecily groaned.

“Why, how do you want to be described?”

“I was hoping you’d say I was twelve feet tall and breathed fire,” Cecily cracked.

“I think you’re thinking of dragons,” Sera said. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re right scary when you’re throwing all that magic stuff around, but no one’s getting you confused with a dragon.”

“Oh dear. That was my escape plan. Blend in with the dragons if things go bad,” Cecily sighed.

Bull’s chest rumbled in a laugh. “Don’t worry, boss. I’ll leave out the fact that you’re cute.”

“You have my thanks,” Cecily said dryly.


	5. The Knight-Captain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen has come a long way since Kirkwall, but that doesn't erase what happened there.

_*******************************************_

_We took Keran back to the Gallows and made a full report to the Knight-Captain about what we’d found. That probably should have been the end of it, but then someone made a comment about the depravity of mages in general._

_Most apostates would have noticed that they were surrounded by Templars and kept their mouths shut._ _Not Hawke. "Perhaps your mages would be less hostile if they hadn’t been locked in a prison simply for existing.”_

_“How can you say that, after what you’ve seen? Mages cannot be treated like people,” the Knight-Captain said angrily. “They are not like you and I.”_

_Hawke crossed her arms. “Mages aren’t people?" She gave him a bland smile. "How astonishing. To the untrained eye they look so similar. But I suppose you’d know better than I.”_

_I don’t think the Knight-Captain realized how close he’d just come to being incinerated._

*******************************************

“I’ve had another letter from home,” Cecily said, approaching Cullen at the war table after an unusually short meeting of the council.

Cullen had been reviewing the latest numbers on the coin and supplies for his troops, but he set down his ledger when Cecily stepped to his side. “Do your parents seem more at ease with the Inquisition?” he asked. The Trevelyans' first message from Ostwick had contained several veiled questions about whether Cecily was being held against her will. Fortunately, more letters and a promise that she'd visit when she could seemed to have soothed their nerves.

“They do. They might be too much at ease, in fact,” Cecily answered. “My parents are trying to find suitors for my sister Evie. They have their eye on a Ferelden Arl's son. I think they’re hoping Josephine might drop a few favorable words in the Arl's ear.”

“I’m certain she could.” Cullen frowned. “Although I’m not sure the Inquisition ought to be in the matchmaking business.”

Cecily laughed. “I have to agree. Besides, Evie also sent me a letter, and she calls the young man in question an ‘utter tit.’ She enclosed a sketch of him. I think my parents may regret the drawing lessons they forced upon her.” She pulled the letter out of her pocket; a lock of hair fell across her cheek as she bent her head to unfold it, and she stepped closer to show him the picture.

Cullen tried not to think about how appealing she smelled, or what her skin might feel like if he tucked that bit of hair back behind her ear. He had noticed those sorts of thoughts crossing his mind a few weeks ago; at first he thought they would pass, but they’d only become harder to ignore.

Fortunately, Evie’s sketch was an effective distraction. He snorted with laughter. “Maker. Is he picking his nose?”

“I believe he is.” Cecily folded the paper back into her pocket. “Any word from your family?”

“I haven’t written to them in several weeks,” he admitted. _Several months, more like._ “They are used to long silences from me, though. After I transferred from the Ferelden Circle, I’m afraid my letters became shamefully irregular.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever asked you where you served,” Cecily said. “Most of the Ostwick Templars were from the Free Marches, but we had a few Fereldens, even some Orlesians. Where did they send you?”

“I served in the Ferelden Circle during the Blight.” Cullen prayed she wouldn’t ask about that. “Then I was promoted to Knight-Captain and transferred to Kirkwall. I spent several years there, until Cassandra recruited me a few months ago.”

Silence fell in the room.

Cecily’s demeanor visibly changed. Her brow knitted, her shoulders stiffened, and she looked at him as if she’d never seen him before. “ _You_ were a Kirkwall Templar? The Knight-Captain of their Circle?”

Cullen’s stomach sank at her expression. Of course she would feel that way about Kirkwall Templars. He felt as if he should apologize, but wasn’t sure where to start. “I was. I am not proud of what happened there. Red lyrium drove Knight-Commander Meredith mad, and I should have seen it sooner. There was a lot I should have seen sooner.”

She didn’t look very reassured by that. “Did you know Varric? Or the Champion?”

“I only knew Varric as the Champion’s friend. As for the Champion—yes. We met several times. I fear I did not make the best impression.” _An understatement, I’m sure._

Cecily appeared to be thinking about whether to ask something. Finally, she spoke, her voice thin and unsteady. “The Knight-Captain in Varric’s book, the one who said mages weren’t people, that there were arguments for expanding the Rite of Tranquility. Was that you?”

Cullen’s veins turned to ice. For a moment he wanted to lie, to say Varric had made it up for dramatic impact, but … “Yes. It was.”

She opened and closed her mouth for a moment, looking at him with a mixture of astonishment, horror, and hurt. Finally, she said, “Why?” Her voice heated a bit. “Maker’s breath, Cullen. How could you _think_ that?”

Shame coursed through Cullen. He wanted to be angry at Varric for putting that in the _Tale_ , but he knew the blame was his. He’d come to Kirkwall so angry, so paranoid about blood magic, that he’d been willing to accept almost any measure to curtail the mages’ freedom. He’d worked side-by-side with Meredith—even with Alrik.

But after the Qunari rebellion, and with more distance from what happened in Ferelden, his views had slowly begun to shift. Perhaps it had been watching the Circle mages risk their lives to fight the Qunari, to get Hawke into the Keep. Perhaps it was seeing Hawke go toe to toe against the Arishok in defense of her city and nearly lose her life for it. Perhaps it was Meredith’s increasing madness. But finally, he’d remembered what the Order was supposed to do—and seen how far they’d come from that ideal.

_Much too little. Far too late._

He forced himself not to look away from her; he deserved the reproach in her expression. “Because I was angry, and ignorant, and arrogant, and a thousand other things I regret.”

He paused, trying to find the right words. There were none. “I am ashamed of what I said. Nothing I say now would excuse it.”

Cecily looked at him for a long moment, then nodded a bit. “Thank you for being honest. I’ll let you get back to work.”

As she walked away, Cullen called out, “I’m sorry.”

Her head turned back. “For what?” she asked, not stepping closer.

 _For so much._ “For what I said, and thought,” he began. “For not stopping Meredith. For not doing more in Kirkwall to protect the people there—especially the mages. I failed. But I will not fail the Inquisition, I swear it.”

Cecily’s face was serious, but not unfriendly. “I believe you, Commander,” she said quietly.

Cullen watched her go. When she was out of sight, he closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, trying to control the nausea that engulfed him.

This wasn't the first time he’d been ashamed of the man he’d been in Kirkwall. But he felt as if that man had just reached out from the past to hurt someone he respected. Someone he liked.

That horrified look in Cecily’s eyes … he’d be seeing that for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cullen has some dark moments in Kirkwall. He's not that same man when we meet him in Haven, but it seemed likely that Varric's _Tale_ might contain some unflattering stories about him -- and that an avid reader like Cecily might make the connection.


	6. Places where no one wants to be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stakes become clear. Plus, Dorian!

_*******************************************_

_I won’t say much about the Deep Roads, except this: only the stupid or suicidal should visit them. If neither term applies to you, I recommend finding another way to make your fortune._

_Hawke came out of that thaig a wealthy woman. She was able to restore her mother to her childhood home, the grand Amell estate in Hightown. But neither she nor Leandra thought it worth the price Carver had paid._

 *******************************************

“Let’s see. We’re waist-deep in stagnant water, this appears to be a dungeon, and we don’t know where or _when_ we are. How does this rank with _your_ worst days?” Dorian asked. “Because it’s up there, for me.”

Cecily sloshed forward through the water and shuddered as it soaked into her tunic, carrying an awful clammy feeling up her body. “I’d have to think about that. This could be the worst, but the day the Conclave exploded was also quite bad. Ask me again later. If we’re still alive.”

“Of course we’ll still be alive,” Dorian said dismissively, sloshing along beside her. “I’m much too handsome and talented to die.”

His arrogance seemed almost sincere, but something told Cecily that he was as close to panicking as she was. Oddly, that made her feel better. “In that case, I’m glad I’m with you. It increases my odds of survival,” she said flippantly.

“Indeed, you’re most fortunate.” Dorian made a disgusted noise. “Ugh, I don’t want to know what I just stepped on. Let’s get to dry ground and then figure out how to get out of here.”

*******************************************

Haven, apparently, was going to be full of mages.

Unhappy, unstable, recently-allied-with-Tevinter mages, brought in as full allies of the Inquisition and housed right next to a massive tear in the Veil.

Cullen was already on edge, and Cassandra’s report at the war table pushed him right over it. “What was she thinking, setting so many mages loose with no supervision? You were there. Why didn't you stop her?” he shouted.

Cassandra gave him a flat look. The _do not raise your voice at me_ was implied. “We asked the Herald to secure the cooperation of the rebel mages. This, she has done. I may not entirely agree with her decision, but I will support it.”

“And we cannot go back on the alliance now. We risk looking indecisive at best, treacherous and tyrannical at worst.” Josephine shook her head at the predicament.

“We need their help.”

Cullen started a bit. Cecily had entered the room, the Tevinter mage—Dorian—one step behind her. Cassandra had returned from Redcliffe looking none the worse for wear, but the same could not be said for the Herald. There was a burn on her cheek, her eyes were bloodshot, and her face was ash-pale. If Cullen had to guess, he’d say she hadn’t slept—maybe not for several days.

“If I had conscripted the mages, if the Inquisition had been no better than Tevinter, they’d start sneaking out of Haven as soon as they arrived,” she continued, rubbing a hand across her eyes as she stepped up to the table. “I need their cooperation, not their suspicions.”

“The Templars were still a viable option,” Cullen insisted. “I fail to see why we could not wait to …”

“ _We don’t have time._ ”

Cullen had never heard Cecily raise her voice before. It had the desired effect; the room went quiet. “You’ll understand when I explain what happened at Redcliffe,” she said passionately. “But …”

The door opened to reveal Leliana. “I heard shouting. Is everything—oh!”

Leliana’s question was cut off when Cecily—reserved, quiet, formal Cecily—crossed the room in three fast strides and threw her arms around the spymaster. After a beat, Leliana returned the hug, looking over Cecily’s shoulder with a puzzled expression.

Cecily stepped back. An almost silly grin lit her face.  “I’m sorry. But—oh, Maker, you have no idea how good it is to see you, Leliana. This will make sense, I swear.”

Leliana looked around the room, as if someone else might be able to explain what was going on. Dorian stepped forward and bowed. “Sister Leliana. You look much better than you did at Redcliffe.”

The spymaster blinked. “At Redcliffe?”

“Oh, you won’t remember. And thank the Maker for that,” Dorian said. “You may want to sit down for this next part.”

Cecily pressed her lips together. “No. Wait. Everyone needs to hear this. Leliana, Josephine, Cullen—can you gather the rest?”

*******************************************

An hour later, Cecily had told her story to the Inquisition’s core group, with occasional additions from Dorian. She left out nothing—Connor’s death, Leliana’s torture, the effects of red lyrium on Alexius’s prisoners, the massive rift in the sky.

“The Iron Bull and Cassandra were apparently captured after Alexius sent us forward. They’d spent the last year in that dungeon. We got them out of their cells and they—you—came with us to face Alexius. So did you, Leliana. We killed Alexius and took the amulet, but then demons started attacking Redcliffe.”

She swallowed, wishing she didn’t have to say this, knowing she did. They had to understand what she’d seen. “The three of you sacrificed yourselves, bought Dorian the time he needed to return us to our own time. Bull, Cassandra—I heard you both scream right before the demons burst into the throne room. They surrounded Leliana and tore out her throat right as we stepped into the rift.”

She looked around the room, around this odd assembled group who had found the Inquisition. “I asked you here because you need to know what we’re up against. We all knew the Inquisition was important in the abstract. But _it is no longer abstract._ If we don’t move quickly enough, within a year it may be beyond our power to stop this Elder One. The Breach will grow. Every elf, qunari, human, and dwarf in Thedas will suffer. And then the world will end.”

Everyone was looking at her. She crossed her arms, hoping the gesture would hide the shake in her hands. “Those are our stakes. Those are the consequences if we fail. So I strongly suggest that we … well, not fail _._ ”

She wished she’d thought of a better ending to the speech.

Dorian was the first to break the silence. “I think that sounds like a splendid plan. A bit light on the specifics, but we’ll work on those. I’m in.”

Cecily looked over at him. “You’re staying? Truly?”

“Don’t sound so surprised, Herald. We both saw what could happen. Besides, that was a very inspiring speech. Horrifying, but inspiring. I like the idea of not dying in unimaginable agony. So, I’ll stay and help. If you’ll have me.”

Cecily reached out her hand and clasped Dorian’s. The tension in her chest eased just a bit. “Gladly. I’m hoping I never get lost in time again, but if it does happen, I’d rather you were there.”

“I’m in too, boss,” The Iron Bull rumbled. “All in. Stopping this asshole comes first.”

“And I will begin working with our new allies immediately. We _will_ find a way to close the Breach,” Solas said.

“You can count on us, of course,” Leliana said. She stood and placed her hand on Cecily’s shoulder, a brief, compassionate gesture. “Josie and I will look into the things you saw in the future. The assassination. The army of demons. The information you gathered may prove vital to stopping these Venatori.”

Cullen, too, rose from his chair. “I am sorry I criticized your decision,” he said. “Our priority must be doing everything we can to thwart this Elder One, and quickly. The Inquisition’s armies will be ready. You have my word on that.”

Cecily nodded. “Thank you, Commander—Cullen. I have faith in you. In all of you.”

“Marvelous. Glad to see everyone being so productive. _I_ will begin by getting our Herald completely and utterly drunk.” Dorian threw a friendly arm around her shoulders.

Cecily smiled up at him, grateful for the thought. Getting drunk sounded awfully appealing, but … “I did just tell everyone that the world will end if we fail. I’m not sure a night off is in order.”

“ _Sleep_ is in order,” Dorian told her. “You haven’t closed your eyes since we left Redcliffe, I’m certain.”

“Whiskey will help with that,” said Varric. “Come on, Herald. Humor us and have a few drinks. I’ll tell you some Hawke stories you haven’t heard.”

“And after that, maybe take a nice hot bath,” Dorian suggested. “Please tell me you take baths in the South.”

“We do indeed. Occasionally, we even use soap,” Cecily assured him.


	7. Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friendly competition can be an effective distraction.

_*******************************************_

_The Hanged Man had Kirkwall’s worst ale and second-worst clientele, but it had the best gossip, and it was one of the only places in the city that never got around to banning Isabela. So it became the host for regular games of Wicked Grace among Hawke’s friends. Merrill eventually learned not to announce when she was bluffing._

 *******************************************

The sight of Dorian’s arm around Cecily’s shoulders stirred something unpleasant in Cullen. He couldn’t help but notice the way she leaned into the embrace, taking comfort in the contact.

Soon, it seemed to Cullen as if he never saw Cecily without Dorian present. He was there while she and Solas performed various tests on the mark, lending his own magic when required, discussing possible remedies for the Breach in technical terminology that made Cullen's head hurt. They took most of their meals together and they seemed to laugh a great deal, especially when Varric joined them. Cullen half expected Dorian to follow Cecily into the war council, and only just managed to bite back a sarcastic remark about her missing shadow when she entered alone.

 _Maker’s breath. I have no right to be jealous_. She’d shown no sign of interest in him—indeed, she’d been distant ever since he’d told her about Kirkwall, and he couldn’t blame her.

One afternoon, as Cullen headed back to the war room after training with his soldiers, he heard a laugh float out of Cecily’s small Chantry office. “I will win eventually, Dorian.”

Unable to help himself, Cullen walked past her door. It was open, revealing the Herald and her Tevinter mage sitting at her desk with a chessboard between them. “Promises, promises, my dear Cecily,” Dorian said, moving one of his pieces. “Your situation is more dire than you realize.”

Cecily looked at the board, then moved her tower to take Dorian’s archmage. “I think you’re the one in trouble this time.”

“Ah, I’m afraid not.” Dorian moved his knight.

Cecily groaned. “Blast it! I didn’t see that.” She looked at the board, her eyes narrow. “Damn. No matter what I do you’ll win in three moves.”

“Yes. But if you _had_ noticed my knight, you might have played me to a draw. You’re getting much better,” Dorian said. “Of course, you’ve had an excellent teacher.”

“Of course,” she replied wryly.

It was Dorian who noticed Cullen first. “Commander! I don’t suppose you play chess? Our Herald here was hopeless when we began playing, but she’s approaching competence now.”

“Such flattery,” Cecily murmured, setting the board back to its starting configuration.

“I do play a bit,” Cullen said, suddenly seeing an opportunity to ease the lingering tension between them. “I don’t suppose I might claim the next game?”

Cecily stood. “Of course, Commander. I actually need to consult with Cassandra about something. But please, you two should continue.”

 _Apparently I should have been more specific,_ Cullen thought, hiding his frustration as best he could. He could not see a graceful way to decline playing against Dorian, so he sat, trying not to watch Cecily as she left the room.

Dorian looked at him with an expression Cullen couldn’t quite read. “Well. Won’t this be delightful? I’ve been thinking we should get to know each other better, Commander.”

“Indeed,” Cullen said politely. “Would you like the first move?”

“Oh no. Please, after you. You’re going to need every advantage you can get.”

******************************************* 

An hour later, Dorian swore. “Damn. You’re actually quite good at this.”

Cullen laughed. “I’ll take the compliment.” Dorian was an excellent player and clearly hadn’t expected Cullen to pose a challenge. “My sister and I used to play. She could likely beat both of us, simultaneously.”

“I’ve gotten used to playing against Cecily, that’s the problem.” Dorian sighed and moved his knight; a sacrifice play, but necessary to keep him in the game. “She learns quickly but she’s still terribly predictable. We’re working on it.”

Cullen’s good mood subsided. He put one finger on his archmage, then removed his hand from the board and looked at Dorian. “What exactly are your intentions towards the Herald?”

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “My _intentions_? Commander, are you asking if I’m _courting_ your Herald of Andraste?”

“Are you?” Cullen challenged.

“Certainly not. She’s a lovely woman, but she’s not really my type.”

“Oh, indeed? And what exactly _is_ your type, then?”

The mage leaned back in his seat and gave him an amused smile. Not just amused, Cullen realized—appreciative. “Well, Commander. Since you asked, you’re rather close to it. I don’t suppose you’re available?”

Cullen’s mouth dropped open. “Um,” he said eloquently. “I. Um. I’m quite flattered, actually. But I … well, men aren’t …”

Dorian laughed and held up his hand, forestalling any more stammering. “It’s all right, Commander—I suspected that you prefer women. I’ll try not to hold it against you. Whatever made you think Cecily and I were courting?”

Embarrassment colored Cullen’s cheeks. “You’ve been spending a great deal of time together," he said lamely. "She is different around you. Happier."

Dorian considered this for a moment. “Well, we’re friends.” It sounded like the idea surprised him. “Apparently getting trapped in a red-lyrium-addled dystopia together is an excellent bonding experience. Not that I’m recommending it, mind you. Now it’s my turn for an uncomfortable question. Are you asking out of brotherly concern? As a representative of the Inquisition? Or because you want to court her yourself?”

Cullen wished he were a better liar. “She is important to our success,” he said vaguely. “I have been wishing that things between us were easier. Friendlier. As they seem to be between you.”

“And why aren’t they, do you think?” Dorian twirled one of Cullen’s captured pieces between his fingers, his eyes intent on the Commander.

Cullen sighed. He didn’t entirely want to be telling Dorian this, but who else could he seek counsel from? “Have you read Varric’s _Tale of the Champion_?”

Dorian shook his head. “The Kirkwall events didn’t really have the same significance in Tevinter.”

Cullen felt absurdly grateful for that. “I crossed paths with the Champion a few times. The _Tale_ records some things I’m not proud of, things I said about mages. Cecily made the connection. I’m ashamed of what I said now,” he added hastily. “And there was much more I could have done in Kirkwall. I cannot blame her for thinking less of me.”

“Did you tell her that?”

Cullen nodded. “But I haven’t known what to say to her since.”

“You could try ‘good morning,’” Dorian suggested. “Or ‘how are you today?’ Or any number of things besides ‘I have the latest recruitment reports.’ That’s all I’ve heard you say to her since I’ve been here, and frankly it’s not very romantic.”

“Sometimes I have reports on missions we discussed at the war council.” Cullen heard the words and had to laugh at himself. “I take your point. I don’t know if I ought to be _romantic_ , given our respective situations …”

Dorian heaved a tired sigh. “Yes, yes, duty, honor, distraction, et cetera.”

“But I would be content to know she didn’t hate me.”

Dorian blinked at him. “I’m reasonably sure she doesn’t, Commander,” he said dryly. “I’ll tell you what. If you win this game, I’ll write down ten things you can say to her that aren’t about reports.”

Cullen looked at the board. “You do know I’m two moves away from checkmate,” he said, trying to recapture his competitive bravado.

Dorian chuckled. “Are you indeed? I must be in a helpful mood, then.”

It took four moves, and the game ended in a stalemate. But the next morning, Cullen found a neatly folded note waiting for him at his desk.

> _Since it was a draw, I’ll give you five._
> 
> _1\. Good morning, Cecily._  
>  _2\. Good afternoon, Cecily._  
>  _3\. I’m afraid I’m out of reports today. Would you care to discuss the weather?_  
>  _4\. Isn’t Dorian handsome and charming?_  
>  _5\. Would you like to play a game of chess?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know almost nothing about chess -- but let's attribute any oddities in my description to differences in Thedas's version of the game. :-)


	8. Enemies

_*******************************************_

_With the Viscount dead, Knight-Commander Meredith should have been the most important person in Kirkwall. The moment the nobles at the Keep raised a cheer to the Champion, however, Hawke became Meredith’s rival._

_At first, Meredith chose to politely ignore the fact that the Champion had used magic—dangerous, powerful, Qunari-slaying magic—in full view of half the city. The Knight-Commander was no fool; she saw that trying to force Hawke into a Circle would cause a political and popular uproar._

_But I think some part of Meredith spent the next three years waiting for the day when she could confront the Champion._

 *******************************************

The first days after Redcliffe felt like slow torture to Cecily.

Solas told her, time and again, that it was impossible to predict when they would be able to close the large rift. Cecily wasn’t prepared to accept that. She spent every waking moment pouring over every magical book she could find, asking Solas questions, consulting with the other mages, trying to figure out the right combination of magic that would give the mark enough power to seal the Breach.

Finally, Solas threw up his hands and told her that she was banned from the research quarters unless he summoned her. “I will get nothing done if you keep asking me how much longer this will take.”

“But I can help,” insisted Cecily.

“In your current state of mind, I’m afraid you are more likely to be a hindrance,” said Solas, not unkindly.

“Solas, if we don't close the Breach, it will grow so large that the entire sky will be green,” she argued desperately.

“If we do nothing, yes, that will happen. But I assure you, we are _not_ doing nothing. And remember, the future you saw was a future in which you had been missing for a year and there had been no one to close any rifts, large or small. Your very return made that future impossible. Think on that, and let me work.”

That hadn’t occurred to Cecily, and she did find it somewhat comforting. Even so, it proved hard to keep her mind away from what she’d seen at Redcliffe.

In the Circle, when she had felt afraid or trapped or frustrated, she’d found things to climb. Cecily was actually terrified of heights, but that was rather the point: she’d be afraid of looking down, feel smug for doing it anyway, and return to whatever she’d been doing with more confidence and a clearer head. But there weren’t many high places in Haven, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to explain to Josephine or Vivienne why someone had spotted the Herald of Andraste on the roof of the Chantry.

Fortunately, Dorian found her a new hobby: chess. Cecily knew the names of the pieces and the general rules of the game, but little else, and Dorian beat her with embarrassing ease the first time they played.

“This won’t do at all. I insist that you learn how to play this game properly. We cannot let anyone know that the Herald of Andraste is such an appalling strategist,” he told her.

The idea didn’t appeal much to Cecily, but since she didn’t have anything else to do, she agreed. To her surprise, she enjoyed it. Dorian was good company and a patient teacher, and the complexities of the game were absorbing enough to provide some relief to her worried mind.

“You know, Commander Cullen is quite a skilled player,” he told her during one of their afternoon games, three weeks or so into her lessons.

“Is he?” Somehow that didn’t surprise Cecily. Chess would appeal to someone with Cullen’s command of military strategy.

“Now that I know you won’t embarrass yourself, or me, perhaps you should ask him to play,” Dorian suggested.

There was a little glimmer in his dark eyes that Cecily didn’t quite trust. He must have noticed the awkwardness between her and the Commander, Cecily decided.

“That would please the Commander, I think. At least one mage in Haven would have supervision for the duration of the game.” She’d meant it as a joke, but the words came out more harshly than she’d intended.

Dorian raised his eyebrows. “Do you really think that’s how Commander Cullen sees mages?”

Cecily bit her lip. “I think that’s how he _used_ to see us, when he was a Templar. I’m not sure how he sees us now.” _I’m not sure how he sees me._

“Well, he did have the good sense to leave the Order. People change,” Dorian said mildly.

Cecily was saved from a response by the sound of footsteps—Solas’s footsteps.

She was on her feet before she was even conscious of standing. “What is it?”

“Come with me,” the elven mage said. “I think we’ve found it.”

******************************************* 

Things happened very quickly after that. Solas determined that ten mages would be sufficient to power the mark, and chose the ones he trusted most with the work. Twenty-four hours later, those ten mages, plus Solas and Cecily, were staring directly into the semi-sealed Breach. Cullen’s soldiers surrounded the Rift, ready in case any demons tried to emerge.

Cecily held her breath as they took their places, waiting for it to go wrong—for another time rift to open, for more demons, for … something.

Instead, half an hour later, the Breach was gone.

The reaction in Haven was swift and exultant. Everyone who could play an instrument brought it out and started playing, dances from half a dozen different regions and races were danced simultaneously, and it turned out that a large number of Inquisition personnel had been saving casks of ale and bottles of whiskey for just this sort of day.

Cecily had always been shy at parties, and even this one was no exception. She floated quietly between groups, watching the dancing, sipping at a cup of ale but not wanting to get drunk. Even with the Breach gone there was still so much to do—but she felt lighter watching the celebration.

A figure on Haven’s walls caught her eye. Cullen was standing with his arms crossed, pacing slightly, looking out at the mountains around Haven.

No, not the mountains. At the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

Before she could talk herself out of it, Cecily set down her drink and went to climb the ladder to join him.

At first Cullen didn’t seem to notice her; his attention was absorbed by the sky above the Temple ruins, which still occasionally gave off faint green pulses. “Solas says the sky is scarred, but healing,” she said, stepping next to him. “No more demons will ever come out of that breach.”

Cullen turned his head to look at her. “Then you should be celebrating.”

“So should you,” Cecily replied.

Cullen reached out and braced his arms against the top of the wall. “This was an important step, but hardly our last one. We still don’t know who this Elder One is, or how he plans to raise an army of demons …”

“… or why he wants to assassinate the Empress of Orlais, or why he created the Breach in the first place,” Cecily continued. “I know.”

The Commander chuckled. “I see I am not the only one who cannot keep their mind off our work.”

“You’re a thousand times worse than I am and you know it,” Cecily said archly.

“Oh, indeed? I heard that Solas had to bar the door against your presence because you would not stop obsessing over his progress,” Cullen retorted, smiling at her.

“Josephine said she found you sleeping at your desk. Five mornings in a row,” Cecily shot back.

“And here we both are, arguing about work while everyone else celebrates,” Cullen said.

Cecily rested her elbows on Haven’s wall and stood in companionable silence with him for a moment. She hadn’t realized how much she had missed their conversations. She wondered if she ought to say something about Kirkwall, about her recent coldness, but decided against it. Perhaps they would talk about it eventually, but for now, she didn’t want to spoil the first comfortable moment they’d had in weeks.

“Commander, do you like to dance?” she asked impulsively.

Cullen looked at her with some surprise. “I … on occasion, yes. Would you like …?”

“I would.”

Cullen smiled almost shyly, then extended his arm to her. “My lady Herald, would you do me the honor?”

Cecily reached out her hand to take it—but then froze.

There was a fire at the top of the mountain.

No. Not a fire. Torches. And they were moving towards Haven.

******************************************* 

For one exhilarating moment, Cecily thought that the Inquisition might actually hold off the Templar army.

Then she saw the dragon.

Cullen ordered the Inquisition’s remaining forces to Haven’s chantry; they were a battered group, and smaller than Cecily had hoped for. She allowed Dorian to bandage the long scrape on her arm as the strange blond boy in the hat tried to tell them what was going on. Cecily didn’t entirely follow Cole’s explanation, but one thing became clear: the Elder One and his dragon were there for her.

From the moment Chancellor Roderick told them about the pilgrim’s path, Cecily knew what she had to do.

She looked at Cullen. “I’ll go out and draw the Elder One’s attention. When you’re out of reach of the avalanche, send up a signal and I’ll trigger the trebuchet.”

Cullen nodded—then his face turned pale as he realized the full implications. “And what about you?”

Cecily didn’t say anything.

“You cannot be serious!” Cassandra said. “Herald, without you the Inquisition …”

“There will _be_ no Inquisition if we don’t get our people out of here. That was the plan, Seeker, not an invitation for opinions,” Cecily snapped.

She looked over at Cullen, bracing herself for another argument. His expression was unhappy, to say the least. But he met her eyes and jerked his head in a reluctant nod. “Perhaps you will find a way out,” he said, almost gently.

Cecily nodded, trying to look as if she believed him.

_It’s kind of you to lie to me, Commander. But we both know where this ends._

******************************************* 

Much of Cullen’s training as a Templar had been about focus, about how to push distractions or worries from one's mind and think only of the task at hand. So long as Cullen was leading the evacuation, he could concentrate on that—on leading the Inquisition's people up the pilgrim’s path, into the mountains, and to the best and most sheltered campsite they were likely to find. He could think about something besides the fact that their escape had come at the price of Cecily’s life.

Now, with the camp set up and little to do but wait for morning, he could think of nothing else.

“She was.”

Cullen started a bit and looked over. Cole had slipped to his side without him noticing. It was dark, but even so, that was unnerving.

“What?”

The boy looked up at him from underneath his odd hat. “You wonder if she was afraid. She was.” His tone was oddly earnest. “But so were the others, and she felt their fears as well. She weighed them against hers, found that hers seemed small. So she swallowed them, and went.”

Cullen felt sick. “Why are you telling me this?” he whispered, his voice half-choked, closer to tears than he'd been in a long time.

The boy drew back as if Cullen had yelled at him. “You’re sad. I wanted to help. I want to help her too. She’s still afraid, and hurt, and cold. She sees the fire but she doesn’t trust her eyes.”

Cullen forgot to breathe for a moment. “Cole. What are you talking about?”

The boy closed his eyes, opened them, and without a word, began walking. Cullen followed him, barely hearing the puzzled calls from Cassandra and Leliana.

At the edge of the camp, Cole stopped and pointed. “There.”

At first Cullen saw only the dark, but then—motion. A single figure moving through the drifts, struggling, stumbling, falling to their knees.

_It can’t be._

Cullen started running, moving over the snow as best he could, forcing himself to be absolutely sure before he dared to hope.

There, kneeling in the snow, ragged and bloodied but _alive_ , was Cecily.


	9. Heroes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke tells the _Tale_ a bit differently than Cecily expected.

_*******************************************_

_"You recognize it, do you not?" Meredith asked. "Pure lyrium, taken from the Deep Roads." She gave the sword an almost loving look._

_"It does look familiar," said Hawke. "It also drives people mad. Which explains quite a lot, now that I think about it."_

_Meredith's gaze returned to Hawke. I'd suspected that the Knight-Commander hated the Champion, but even I wasn't expecting to see that much loathing in her eyes. "Enough insolence, Champion. I tolerated your apostasy. But you chose your side and now you will share this Circle's fate." She turned her head to her Templars. "Kill the Champion!"_

_“Knight-Commander, you said we were going to arrest the Champion!”_

_A single Templar stepped from the ranks. His face was hidden beneath his helmet, but his uniform identified him as an officer—a high-ranking one at that._

_The Knight-Commander went pale with rage. “You will do as I command!”_

_The officer stood his ground. “No. You have gone too far. This is not what the Order stands for. Knight-Commander, stand down. I relieve you of your command.”_

_Meredith pointed her blade directly at the officer. “My own Templars have fallen prey to blood magic. You’re all weak, letting the mages control your minds! I will protect this city myself. Starting with the Champion’s death!”_

_The Templar officer drew his sword and stepped between his Commander and the Champion. “You’ll have to go through me.”_

******************************************* 

The Elder One had a name. Corypheus.

And Varric, apparently, had a friend who had encountered the creature before. “She’s going to meet us on the battlements. Bringing her down here might cause a bit of a stir.”

Cecily respected Varric’s wish for secrecy until they were climbing the half-crumbled stairs, out of earshot of anyone except the birds overhead.

“It’s Hawke, isn’t it?” She hoped she didn’t sound too awestruck.

Varric nodded. “Since you’re the Inquisitor now, do you think you can keep Cassandra from killing me?”

Cecily grimaced. _That task might be beyond Andraste herself._

Two figures were waiting for them on the battlements. One was the most striking elf Cecily had ever seen. For a moment she thought he was Dalish, but as she grew closer she could see that the tattoos on his face and arms were not clan markings—they shone pure silver, as did his pale hair. 

The woman next to him seemed almost ordinary by comparison, at least at first glance. She was wrapped in a long, dark blue woolen coat worn over leggings and boots; her staff was as plain as a military quarterstaff, and she carried a small knife at her belt. Her dark brown hair fell in untidy waves around her shoulders and half concealed one eye from view.

Juliet Hawke wasn’t quite as Cecily had pictured her, but there was something in the way she carried herself that spoke of confidence, of power. Cecily had no trouble imagining this woman facing down a Qunari Arishok.

The Champion spotted them first. A wide smile spread across her face. “Varric!”

Varric returned the smile in kind. “Hawke! Good of you to come.” He stretched his hand towards her.

“I’ve been crying myself to sleep without my trusty dwarf. How could I stay away?” Hawke reached out and clasped Varric’s forearm. The easy familiarity of the gesture spoke volumes. “Maker, but it’s good to hear your voice again, Varric.”

“Right back at you, Hawke.” Varric looked over her shoulder. “And you brought Fenris! Nice to see you, elf. Are there any slavers still foolish enough to leave Tevinter?”

The elf’s mouth quirked. “Always.”

“Well, keep at it. You may kill them all yet.”

“I shall enjoy the attempt.” Cecily strongly suspected Fenris wasn’t joking.

Varric turned to her. “Inquisitor Trevelyan, allow me to present my friends. This is Fenris, scourge to slavers everywhere. And this is Juliet Hawke. Since you’ve read my book, I’ll assume she needs no other introduction.”

Protocol lessons hadn’t prepared Cecily for meeting a living legend, so she settled on a slight curtsy, the kind a hostess would make to a visitor of equal or greater rank. “Serrah Fenris. Serrah Hawke. It is an honor to welcome the Champion of Kirkwall to Skyhold.”

After a slight pause, Fenris gave her an awkward half-bow and Hawke extended her hand to shake Cecily’s. “Thank you for the welcome, Inquisitor,” the Champion said. “Although I don’t use the Champion title much anymore. So. Corypheus. Not dead?”

“Not even a little, apparently,” Varric sighed. “You and the Inquisitor have a lot to discuss.”

******************************************* 

It took the better part of an hour for Hawke to explain how and why she’d fought Corypheus. The Champion was unsettlingly certain that she’d killed him—which meant that they were probably dealing with a creature that could come back from the dead.

In theory the Grey Wardens, who had imprisoned Corypheus in the first place, should have been their best lead, but according to Hawke’s brother something was terribly wrong with the Wardens. The Champion had thrown herself into helping Carver and a small, scattered band of his comrades figure out what was going on. Their next step was clear: find Hawke’s contact Stroud, who had been headed to Crestwood.

With that established, Varric left to find Hawke and Fenris a place to sleep for the night. Then Fenris murmured something in Hawke’s ear, said “Please excuse me, Inquisitor,” and slipped off as well. Cecily found herself alone on the Skyhold battlements with the Champion of Kirkwall.

_Maker, please don’t let me embarrass myself._

“Is Serrah Fenris all right?” she asked politely.

Hawke nodded. “He likes to map all of the potential exits before he spends the night in a place—a habit he acquired after he escaped his former master. At Skyhold that might take him a while.” She sighed. “I tried to talk him out of coming here. Aveline even found him a nice slaving ring to go after, but he insisted on following me instead. Not that I’m not glad for his company. I am. But … I know he would die to protect me. I prefer to limit his opportunities to do so.”

Cecily wasn’t sure what to say to that. Hawke smiled ruefully and changed the topic. “So. Inquisitor. That’s quite a title. Does it come with a hat? All good titles ought to come with fancy hats.”

“No. But it came with a very large ceremonial sword that nearly broke my arm when I lifted it. Seeker Cassandra tends to forget that not all of us are hardened warriors,” Cecily said wryly.

“Ah yes, the Seeker.” The Champion’s blue eyes glinted. “Varric had some interesting things to say about her. He also had quite a bit to say about you.” She crossed her arms and looked at Cecily, clearly appraising her. Cecily fought the urge to stand up straighter. “I must say I was surprised to hear that Varric had gotten involved with the Inquisition. He’s never been one for religion. You’ve obviously made an impression on him.”

“I’m glad,” Cecily said honestly. “I like him—and I think he keeps the Inquisition a bit more grounded.”

“Take good care of him, all right?” Hawke’s tone was light, but there was deep affection in her voice as well, and a bit of worry. “Sure, he’ll make up crazy stories about you and it’s hard to get a straight answer out of him sometimes. But once he’s decided you’re worth the trouble, he’s got your back for life. And he’s decided. I can tell.”

******************************************* 

As the two women descended from the battlements, they ran into the Inquisition’s Commander. In Cecily’s case, literally; she rounded a corner and crashed into him with slightly embarrassing force.

“Cecily! Inquisitor. My apologies,” he said, reaching out a hand to steady her.

Cecily started to say something about how it was entirely her fault—since it was—but Cullen’s attention had snapped to the person with her.

Hawke’s mouth dropped opened and her eyes went wide. “Knight-Captain!”

Cecily took a step back and looked warily between them. The two were clearly surprised to see one another, but she sensed no hostility.

The Commander inclined his head. “Champion.”

The other mage shook her head and chuckled bitterly. “Just Hawke, if you don’t mind.”

Cullen grimaced sympathetically. “Serrah Hawke, then. It is good to see you well. And as for me—it’s Commander now. I am no longer with the Templar Order.”

“I take it you didn’t like the Order’s new red lyrium retirement plan,” Hawke said.

Cullen barked out a laugh. “No, I can’t say that I did.”

“Probably a good choice.” Hawke pushed her hair back. “I … I don’t know if you want my thanks, for what you did in the Gallows. But you have them.”

“And you have mine.”

“For what?” Hawke said. “For playing my heroic role in the destruction of a city?”

Cecily tried to keep the shock from her face. Was that truly how Hawke saw the rebellion at Kirkwall—how she saw herself?

“Kirkwall would have destroyed itself with or without you, Serrah Hawke,” Cullen said gravely. “The conflict between Orsino and Meredith was not of your making.”

“And Anders?” Hawke asked, her jaw tightening.

Cullen sighed. “Yes. Anders. I do not envy you that burden. But I cannot judge you for not anticipating his plan. How could I, when I stood at Meredith’s side and did not see how mad she’d become? In the end it was his choice, not yours.”

The two of them simply watched each other for a moment. Cecily waited silently, not wanting to interrupt something that was clearly so important to both of them. Finally, Cullen spoke again. “Lives were saved because you were in Kirkwall, Champion—Hawke. Never doubt that.”

Hawke met the former Templar’s gaze. “The same goes for you, Commander.”

Cullen inclined his head again, a gesture something like a bow. “Serrah Hawke. Inquisitor.” And with that, he walked past them, off into some other decrepit area of Skyhold.

Cecily looked over at Hawke. The Champion of Kirkwall looked a bit rattled, but also … satisfied, in some odd way.

“What was that about?” Cecily blurted.

Hawke turned to her. “Ah. I’m sorry, that was rude of me. I suppose you knew Cullen was the Knight-Captain of the Kirkwall Circle.”

“I did. He said he’d met you,” Cecily said tentatively.

Hawke nodded. “He … well, Varric will tell it better than I can, but when Meredith went mad, Cullen tried to stop her.”

Cecily tried to wrap her mind around the fact that the Champion of Kirkwall was personally telling her the story of the mage rebellion.

"Even after I killed Orsino, Meredith wanted my head," Hawke continued. "And I mean that quite literally. I think she was planning to have it stuffed and mounted. Cullen—he stepped between us. He told her she’d gone too far and tried to relieve her of her command.” She let out a little puff of breath in an amazed laugh. “We didn’t know each other well. To be honest I thought he was a fairly typical Templar. I nearly died of shock when he drew his sword.”

“Wait. That really happened? That was _Cullen_?” Cecily asked.

“Right, Varric said you’d read _The Tale of the Champion_ ,” Hawke said. “Yes. Varric didn’t put his name in the book because he thought it might cause Cullen trouble with the Order. But he fought side-by-side with us when she drew that red lyrium sword. _Maker_ , that battle." Hawke shook her head as if she still couldn’t believe it. “She made the bloody statues come to life—Varric left that out of the book too, he said no one would believe it. And at the end of it, Cullen made the Templars stand down, and he let me and my friends walk away. Now that he’s quit the Order I should tell Varric to put his name in the second edition. Provided the world doesn’t end, I mean.”

“He never … he’s talked about Kirkwall, but not about the battle after the Chantry explosion. I know he blames himself for not stopping Meredith earlier,” Cecily said.

Hawke sighed. “I know how he feels. But I think he’s a good man, your Commander. I’m glad he got a second chance away from the Templars.”

 _I am too,_ Cecily thought.

*******************************************

Cecily’s first official duty as Inquisitor was preventing Cassandra from strangling Varric. She did what she could to soothe the Seeker, but it would be a while before she and the dwarf could safely be in the same room together.

Then Josephine pulled her aside to show her the new Skyhold throne. Cecily managed to say something polite about what an impressive throne it was, when what she wanted to do was run screaming into the mountains at the sight of the blasted thing. _Judging_ people? Her? As if she didn’t have enough to do with Corypheus on the loose?

When Josephine released her, Cecily sought out Cullen.

The Commander had claimed a nearby tower as his office, and was attempting to repair a damaged wall when Cecily found him. He had removed his armor for the task—the first time Cecily had seen him without it. She took a moment to notice how his shoulders and arms looked in his close-fitting shirt, then another to scold herself for the inappropriate observation. _You’re not here to ogle the poor man, Trevelyan._

“May I help?” she asked, raising her hand and letting her magic swirl gently in the air.

Cullen looked over at her. “Inquisitor! If you're willing, I would be most grateful,” he said, wiping sweat from his forehead.

Cecily coiled her magic around the pile of beams and bricks Cullen had been wrestling with; carefully, she lifted them, rearranged them, and slid them back into the wall.

Cullen shook his head. “Maker. Where were you an hour ago? Not that … I mean, I know you have much more important things to do.” He paused. “So Varric brought Hawke here?”

“He did indeed. She was glad to see you, you know.”

Cullen looked wary. “Oh?”

“She said you fought beside her at the Gallows. That you tried to stop Meredith.” Cecily tried to think of what to say. “I … I’m sorry I was so cold, after I found out about Kirkwall.”

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “You had every right. The things from the book, the things I said, I can’t imagine how you _wouldn’t_ hate me.”

“I never hated you!” Cecily said quickly. “I just felt … I don’t know. I wondered if you might still feel the same way about mages. Even though you’ve been nothing but kind to me since we met,” she finished ruefully. “Not just kind. A friend.”

“Until I left you in Haven.” Cullen’s mouth twisted; his scar stood out white against the faint growth of his beard.

The guilt in his voice hurt to hear. “Cullen, it was the only way. You know that. And you didn’t leave me. I stayed.”

“It _was_ the only option,” Cullen admitted, crossing his arms. “But it was a bad one. You could have … I will not allow the events at Haven to happen again. You have my word.”

Unsure of what to say, Cecily tentatively reached out her hand and placed it on his forearm. She gave it what she hoped was a comforting squeeze. “Don’t ever doubt yourself, Commander. _Cullen_. We are lucky to have you.”

Cullen’s mouth quirked; he dropped his gaze to her hand, then covered it with his own. “Thank you, Inquisitor. Cecily.”

“I should let you get back to work,” she said after a moment, pulling her hand back, hoping he didn’t notice her blush.

“Indeed,” Cullen said, clearing his throat a bit. “Now that you’ve fixed my wall, I suppose I ought to see what I can do about my desk.”

Cecily looked doubtfully at the desk in question—more of a table, really. It had clearly been salvaged from somewhere in Skyhold’s wreckage; it had chunks of stone supporting two of its legs, and looked exceptionally splinter-prone.

“I wish you luck,” she said wryly, making a mental note to have the quartermaster order him a real desk as she stepped out into the afternoon light.

******************************************* 

Cullen held himself together until the door to his tower closed, until he was sure Cecily was out of earshot. Then he leaned against the wall and half-laughed, half-sobbed.

She didn’t hate him.

For a moment that knowledge almost drowned out the pain. But then it returned in a wave, the feeling that his blood had turned to needles and was stabbing him from the inside out. He slid down against the newly-repaired wall, breathing deeply, waiting for the attack to pass.

_It's getting worse._

_At least she doesn’t hate me._

_Perhaps she should._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so, obviously, this is a mean place to leave Cullen. Sorry, Commander.
> 
> I figured out that this was a story about Varric's book, and how it shapes the way Cecily views a lot of things -- the mage-Templar war, apostates, Kirkwall, and especially Cullen. It seemed appropriate to end it when she meets Hawke face-to-face. But it felt like she and Cullen still have some work to do before they could find each other -- so, to be continued.
> 
> Also, I couldn't resist a Fenris cameo. Apologies to the game's canon :-)
> 
> Last comment: thank you so much to everyone who has read, commented, and left kudos! I'm still figuring out fanfic, but it's been so much fun to write and post here.


End file.
